The Things One Says at a Funeral Service

It is not for us to judge what is in another’s heart. It is not for us
to judge what one’s intention was, is, or could have been — unless of
course, we are asked to do so by being on a jury and it is part of our
job description. But words spoken in public, where all could hear them
in context — that is quite another thing.
Those of us who understand grammar can — if the occasion calls for it
— correct that in the written or spoken word. Those of us who
understand nuance can — if the occasion might require it — point out
the double-meaning, false meaning, or the failure to quite make the
intended meaning, especially if the ramifications of letting it just
be could have grave consequences.
Then there are spoken words that startle, if not shock, the hearers
because of the inferred meaning that seems to have been made quite
clear by the one speaking the words. Even then, if such words are
spoken in the heat, anguish, pain, or even chaos of the moment, such
startling words can be forgiven (if need be) and overlooked or
forgotten, as the speaker comes to terms with the incident or event
that sparked them and gets his (or her) self together, and gathers his
wits about him.
Who hasn’t heard such words as “I could just kill you!” fly out of
someone’s mouth directed toward a person in the heat of anger; or
something like “I hope you rot in hell!” aimed at an alleged
perpetrator after being convicted for a heinous crime, perhaps against
some child. And who hasn’t even heard such “soft” words as “I know
just how you feel,” meant to convey empathy or compassion for someone
even though there is no way that person could possibly know how the
grieving one is feeling unless he has been through a similar event.
People say things on the spot, yet “collect” themselves and their
words when the initial moment or time is over.
Usually, at a funeral of one who has lived a life of many years, there
is much one can say, even in a humorous way, to reflect the thoughts
and memories that will live on in those who knew him. When a very
young child dies, generally the best you can say is how much you loved
him, or how much happiness he brought into your life, even for that
short period of time. I have had occasion to ask more than one
grieving parent that if they could have all the sadness removed from
their life right now — sadness over the death of their child — would
they choose to do that if it meant never having had that child in the
first place? Not one parent ever said “Yes.”
Responses to tragedy can vary as much as the people involved in the
tragedy vary from each other. Some spouses continuously play the blame
game over the death of a child, which eventually leads to the break-up
of their marriage. Some spouses grow closer together as a result of
the overwhelming misfortune. Some spouses appear to be emotionally
unaffected, or might just chalk it up to being “God’s will” and then
go about looking and acting stoic. Perhaps what is really in their
hearts and souls cannot be expressed. None can judge. But words are a
different story, especially words that have had a chance to walk out
on the stage of the mind and be rehearsed a bit before being presented
to the audience. Such words are the words spoken at a funeral, almost
always held days after the tragedy or death, allowing for time to
settle them in the speaker’s mind.
If we all spoke only what was in our hearts, who could criticize our
truth, like it or not? Would we prefer phoniness at such a “last
chance” moment? Unfortunately, perhaps we would, if what was in the
heart to be spoken at the funeral of a 22-month-old child were words
such as Cooper’s mother, Leanna, spoke, when she said that if given
the opportunity, she would not bring Cooper back…to what she
referred to as a “broken world.” Such words make one think that she
wished she never had him, since he came into this “broken” world and
was living in this “broken” world, and she was instrumental in that
state of affairs. Yet somehow mixed in with all the other things she
said, she implied she might still want or have another child. How can
one not long for the child one lost, because he is better off not
living in this “broken” world, yet speak of possibly having other
children? How can those two concepts coexist if they are both true?
Reports have mentioned that the Harrises were a strongly religious
family. Perhaps if they would not want Cooper back — even if possible
— to live in this “broken” world, it could be suggested that along
that line of thinking bringing any baby into this “broken” world might
be considered a bad thing, or a sin. To “justify” her position on
seeing this tragedy as sparing her child the misery of this world,
Cooper’s mother mentioned such things as his first heartbreak, middle
school and high school, and having to experience the burying of other
members of the family.
Leanna Harris claimed that God gave her the strength to get through
all that had happened, and she apparently did so without a tear. When
asked a question about her husband’s deed, she replied, “Am I angry
with Ross? Absolutely not. It has never crossed my mind. Ross is and
was and will be, if we have more children, a wonderful father. Ross is
a wonderful daddy and leader for our household. Cooper meant the world
to him.”
The father, who called into the funeral service from his jail cell,
said, “Thank you for everything you have done for my boy. I’m just
sorry I can’t be there.” Perfectly fine words under other or more
“ordinary” circumstances. Unfortunately, how they sound at the funeral
of a little boy who died a very tragic death is far from fine. “I’m
just sorry I CAN’T BE THERE.” Words that surely were spoken in his
mind before they were spoken on the phone. Those of us who listen to
heartfelt words spoken over the loss of a child usually hear grief
expressed over the loss of the child; they might hear grief expressed
for any part that they might have played in that loss; they might hear
words alluding to the fact that they just cannot speak what is in
their heart right now. Although what is in one’s heart is what is in
one’s heart, and we should never wish it to be spoken otherwise, it no
doubt hit many a parent’s heart to hear that he was JUST SORRY that he
couldn’t be there. And I’m sure he meant that.
Funerals are really not the final parting day for the deceased from
the living. We all know that. But it is a public time for saying
things that we need to say; things that we feel deeply about and
things that we want to put out there to linger in the “energy field,”
if you will, of our departed loved one.
Funerals are probably not the place to publicly say you would not want
your little healthy child back in the loving circle of your arms.
Maramis Choufani is the Managing Editor of the Las Vegas Tribune. She
writes a weekly column in this newspaper. To contact Maramis, email
her at maramis@lasvegastribune.com.